


The Complexities of Travelling with a Friend

by skadi_zlata



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Difficult Relationships, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:03:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skadi_zlata/pseuds/skadi_zlata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Sherlock thought that he could have a normal holiday once in his life, like ordinary people do, he obviously failed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Complexities of Travelling with a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta mygoldenbuttons!
> 
> This story was written before the second season was aired, hence some discrepancies.

Sherlock had always been good at annoying people, but sometimes it was hard to decide if he acted on purpose or behaved like a jerk quite unintentionally. Now John could only guess whether Sherlock had made up his mind to spoil their journey by testing John’s patience – and why the hell he was doing it.

Actually, it was Sherlock’s idea to travel together, somewhat unexpected. Maybe John should have listened to Mary. They had a row… okay, not a row, Mary was too sensible for that, but a rather strained conversation while John was packing his things. We were planning to go to Brighton, she said. Lie in the sun and all that. But here he comes – and you run after him, again. He could have asked you a bit earlier, before booking the tickets, at least, couldn’t he? This man treats you as if there is no chance you will refuse, he always does.

That was probably true. Though after John’s marriage, the relations between them became to some extent modified. Less close. Not close at all. How are you supposed to stay on friendly terms with a man who despises all the common social activities like hanging out in a pub together, watching silly movies or discussing the last Manchester United game? Sherlock was absorbed in his work, as always, but John didn’t know much of it after moving out and after that awkward evening, with Mary’s more or less innocent question to spoil it – why did Sherlock keep texting John about his investigations all the time if they were not a team anymore?

Everything was rather difficult when they met from time to time, the occasions more and more seldom. It turned out that they didn’t have much in common. There hadn’t been enough time to think about it while chasing Chinese smugglers and solving morbid riddles. At present, John could see the differences between them most clearly.

But it was John who made the first step away, not Sherlock. He would feel even more guilt now if he said “Sorry, I have other plans” when Sherlock appeared in his flat, so worn out and pale, his nerves at their highest tension (“Yes, I have been a little pressed of late”), two of his knuckles burst and bleeding (was it an assault?), and asked if John would share an aimless holiday with him. Get away for a few days. Go somewhere. Out of London. In fact, he had a trip already planned. 

And it could have been lovely, especially after John had finally sorted things out with Mary. The place where they put up was almost idyllic – a peaceful sleepy town in a green valley, with criminal activity reduced to zero. Really nice. At first, John thought he’d be enjoying this unexpected vacation. But Sherlock constantly – constantly! – kept grumbling at _everything_ right from the start. The hotel staff (“That girl tried to be nice, Sherlock, and she speaks English quite decently, was it necessary to point out a little mistake?”). The room (“Yes, it’s not very spacious; yes, the shower especially; but it’s cosy, isn’t it, and here is a nice balcony with an absolutely stunning view – you’d better look, instead of throwing yourself on the bed”). A fussy group of tourists discussing something in the corridor (“Very loud indeed, but they probably don’t realize the local acoustic effects yet”). The food in the nearby restaurant (“Not worse than your favorite Chinese takeaway, that’s for sure. Shall we order something for you, or are you okay for a bit?”).

It was more or less easy to calm Sherlock down, but John’s reassurances worked just for a short while. Sherlock remained sullen and edgy throughout the whole day of their arrival and surely looked forward to other problems and inconveniences. Besides, he was texting all the time, still agitated by his work. Texting, texting, texting…

If Sherlock thought that he could have a normal holiday once in his life, like ordinary people do, he obviously failed. Even his belated enthusiasm regarding their travel plans had turned to be rather out of place…

It was nice to wake up early in the morning and see a misty mountain range in the open window. John stretched himself lazily, intending to doze a bit more. Nope. He was not that lucky. Having noticed John’s slightest movement, his restless companion immediately dropped himself onto John’s bed, fully clothed, and threatened him with an extremely intense schedule for the day, which included a march across the hills, with detours to see various natural landmarks. “Sherlock, you’re inhuman,” John muttered into the pillow. “Leave me alone. Pleeease! It’s not even dawn yet!”

This plea had worked, Sherlock slid off his bed, and John slipped back into oblivion, grateful for small mercies. But soon he was woken up again by the sound of a received message. Sherlock!

The man was sitting in the balcony, long legs stretched out, and texting again.

“For God’s sake! Switch off your phone,” John groaned. “It’s not a proper holiday at all!”

With a faint crooked smile, Sherlock got up and, suddenly compliant, put his phone into the top drawer of John’s bedside table.

“Not proper at all,” he agreed. “Here. I won’t be using it anymore, promise. Matters have gone so far now that they can move without my help. Sleep, John. Don’t worry.”

John closed his eyes with apprehension that Sherlock would be pacing restlessly around the room. But he proved to be wrong. No sound of Sherlock’s footsteps. No sound at all, as if Sherlock had frozen in place somewhere in the corner. Everything was peaceful and quiet, and John slowly fell asleep again, thinking that he clearly needed a break. Too much of Sherlock, after all this time without him. A bit not good for the nerves.

In the afternoon, they set off together for the route Sherlock had chosen – a curving path which wound over the shoulder of the hills, further and further up. But at the last moment, John pretended he’d received a text message from the hospital and it was necessary to check his e-mail – there was an Internet corner opposite the front desk. Of course, it was only a pretext to stay alone for a while. If Sherlock left on his own, John could spend a few hours in peace, just sitting in the balcony of their room, sipping beer and simply enjoying a pleasant view – all these pastoral meadows and tranquil mountains clothed in dark green and tinted by the sun with pale amber colours...

It turned out unexpectedly easy to persuade Sherlock that he shouldn’t cancel his plans. Why not explore the vicinity? Such a good day, after all. It was decided that he’d take a look at the local beauties of nature by himself and John would stay. They could go for a walk together later.

Anticipating his temporary freedom, John was slightly irritated that Sherlock lingered at the porch of the hotel, arms folded, and took his time to explain he’d probably ramble over the hill to the nearest hamlet – so John shouldn’t be worried if he got back late. John nodded absently, “Yeah, alright, yeah.”

Ready to go at last, Sherlock hesitated for a moment and frowned. “John…” But then he shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

John watched him walking away.

He should have been happy by now, left alone to cherish a beautiful sunny day, azure skies and rural sights. But as he sat in the balcony in reverie, an unpleasant vague thought kept circling in his mind instead of agreeable dreams. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Sherlock _knew_ the message was a hoax. Small chance that he didn’t, almost none at all. He had always been able to read John’s mind. Surely he’d noticed that John wanted to escape his company, edgy and disappointed.

Yet Sherlock didn’t say a word. Why?

Was it because he thought John would leave if forced to admit he was already regretting the hasty decision to join his ex-best-friend in this journey?

Sherlock wanted me back in his life, John realized with a pang. If only for a few days. And he tried to make these days comfortable and pleasant, the best way he could. Hence all this grumbling – nothing was good enough. He also made awkward attempts to be social and amenable and agreeable. But all in vain.

John felt somewhat guilty, though he hadn’t really done anything wrong. Well… he lied to Sherlock, but that was because he was reluctant to hurt him, right?

He would have texted Sherlock, saying he’d like to join him after all… But Sherlock’s phone, turned off and forgotten, was lying in the top drawer of his bedside table. Doesn’t matter, John told himself. He’ll be waiting for Sherlock here, he’ll tell him something soothing and reassuring. They are still good friends, if not the best ones. With this thought, John calmed down a bit. If Sherlock has been missing him, if Sherlock needs him, he won’t hold the grudge. Meanwhile, there’s plenty of time to rest and bask in the sunshine before Sherlock comes back.

…Now it’s almost dark. A heavy grey cloud covers the snowy peak of Wetterhorn in the curve of mountains over the Reichenbach Falls. And Sherlock hasn’t returned yet.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/skadi_zlata/pic/000224rh/)


End file.
